A Night Without Stars
by Jillian Eaton
Genre: YA Paranormal
Summary from Goodreads:
You might know vampires...but you don't know Lola.
Sixteen-year-old Lola Sanchez is no hero. Snarky, rebellious, and completely fed up with her life, she has one goal: graduate high school and get the hell out of her small hometown. Until a night of terror and bloodshed changes everything...forever.
Now the only thing Lola wants to do is survive. But how can she survive when everything she knows has been destroyed and the one person she thought she could trust ends up being the most dangerous person of all?
Please Note: 'A Night Without Stars' was previously published as a novella entitled 'Pitch' in 2012. It is now a full length novel. All reviews prior to 01/21/14 are for 'Pitch'.
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“You never told me your name, you know.” I tried to sound flippant, but even to my own ears there was a hoarseness in my voice that betrayed how perilously close I was to tears. I swallowed the hard lump in my throat. Crawling around searching for cameras like a deranged lunatic was one thing. Crying was another.
The boy folded his long, lanky body in half until we were at the same level and I had no choice but to stare straight into his eyes. It was like gazing across a stormy sea. You could see the crests of the waves as they broke out of the water, but the real turmoil was beneath the frothing surf, hidden from view. “Maximus.” His head canted to the side. “My name is Maximus.”
“Maximus, huh?” I tried to smile but the skin on my face wouldn’t stretch. Everything felt tight, from my forehead all the way down to my toes. The feeling reminded me of a few weeks ago when I’d tried on a pair jeans that were one size too small. By some miracle I managed to get them buttoned, only to spend the next ten minutes trying to peel myself out of them. Needless to say, I didn’t go home with a new pair of jeans.
That’s how I felt now. Like somehow I’d slipped into a body that was one size too small and my skin had to stretch to fit over it.
It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.
“I’m Lola.” I didn’t offer my last name, and Maximus didn’t ask for it.
“Sorrows,” he said instead.
I blinked at him in confusion, certain I’d misheard. “What?”
“That’s what the name Lola means. Sorrows.” Those stormy gray eyes studied me intently. “Are you sad, Lola?”
It was difficult not to squirm beneath the intensity of his pensive stare. Most kids in the twelve to nineteen age bracket were too busy looking at their cell phones to engage in eye contact that lasted more than a few seconds. Either Maximus didn’t have a cell phone or he just really, really liked making other people feel uncomfortable.
“I’m not sad,” I scoffed. Except I was. I’d just become an expert at hiding it. I wore my sarcasm like a shield, using it to protect the soft, vulnerable side I didn’t want anyone to see. A soft, vulnerable side that had no place in a world filled with drunken fathers and bloodthirsty monsters.